


Human Elements

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Prey (Video Game 2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 03:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: With Talos I empty and the last of the neurmods injected, Morgan seeks out a familiar face.





	Human Elements

**Author's Note:**

> **Tumblr Prompt:** Imagine if Morgan found a way to control the Typhon either thru a neuromod he spliced up with whatever he killed himself or something. It just always seemed so lonely in Talos l despite January and the five hundred mimics looking to kill you...
> 
> **Tumblr URL:** carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com

_**“** Sylvain,_  
_I’m trusting you with my brain. You do good work, so hopefully that continues. ;) ... Also, if the tests drag on consider moving your office down to Sim. Less hassle and you can always move back after we celebrate our success. -_ **M"**  
  
**(Email from Morgan Yu to Sylvain Bellamy).**

 

* * *

“My scanning registers you as both subject and researcher. Interesting…” 

Morgan brushes aside the curious Science Operator, the comment muffled, but still heard, through the blood pounding in their ears. The operator veers to the left and glides upward, disappearing into the network of Coral stretching throughout the lobby. They have broken their own haphazard rules — or, what Morgan _thinks_ they created — on neuromod usage. There must be over forty new neuronal structures that have been created within the span of forty-eight hours. 

The last neuromod eases in without much of a flinch, the injection site having gone numb hours ago. Morgan’s mind swirls with the familiar chaos of memories, becoming incomprehensible words laced with strands of Coral, snug around the letters that click past teeth and tongue. It’s brighter behind closed eyes, stretched out like neural pathways, and humming with energy. 

January is silent as the last, observable Typhon ability is learned. Not even the low, vibrating song of a Nightmare sounds off, agitated whenever Morgan dips his hand in too deep with Typhon matter.  
  
There is nothing.  
  
Morgan opens their eyes. Nothing. 

Talos I is quiet. 

Morgan fumbles for their transcribe, starting it up and beginning to take note of the effects. They started taking notes of the more visible side effects of these neuromods, such as reoccurring nosebleeds and changes in food preferences on their transcribe.

Each one is addressed to Alex:  
  
_Alex, you wouldn’t believe this —_  
  
_Alex, you’re right. Jellied eels are disgusting and Typhons feel the same —_

_Alex, I hope you get this —_

_Alex, where are you?_  

The older Yu is gone and Morgan can’t recall how or why. There is a collage of Alex sitting front and center in his mind. Alex floating in the Arboretum, out of reach, taken in by Coral and a pulsing, dark mass. In another moment, Alex is blocking his way towards something, gun being waved. He picks up his own gun. In another, he is being dragged into the escape pod and Morgan sends him off. In another they are listening to mother explain the impossibility of both her children on Talos I. Morgan teases, something about — “ _Rock, paper, scis̬ͅs͍̙̹̱ors. Whoever wins gets to — ”_ In another moment, in ano̢̬͉̜̤̣͢tḩ̘̱̫̦͕͘e̖̩͡͠r m͚̣̲̹̙̣̳̰ͤ͛̋ͤͨ̄ͩ͞͝oment̡͔̬͙̠̹̰̕͘, in an̖̮̟̰̫o̢̬͉̜̤̣͢t̡͔̬͙̠̹̰̕͘ḩ̘̱̫̦͕͘e̖̩͡͠r҉͡҉͚̳͖ m͚̣̲̹̙̣̳̰ͤ͛̋ͤͨ̄ͩ͞͝m͚̣̲̹̙̣̳̰ͤ͛̋ͤͨ̄ͩ͞͝ — 

Morgan digs a finger into their temple, a headache blossoming. Alex is gone and Morgan can’t explain it. 

The younger sibling remains in the Talos I lobby, clutching their transcribe, waiting for the headache to subside. Occasionally, they’ll press record, murmuring idle observations, sending them off to Alex. Morgan’s waiting for the familiar chirp of a waiting response, but it never arrives. 

The researcher makes an irritated gesture with their hand, swiping at the drooping Coral. Rising to their feet, they find themselves walking away from the elevator. They _need_ to, selfishly, share this with someone and the last time Morgan, physically, saw their brother was during the simulation. That was days ago.  
  
The younger Yu clears the tension closing their throat in with an abrasive cough. They bring the transcribe up to their mouth, “Alex, did you read me? All the neuromods have been injected. I’m still…me. I look like me. I need to get into the Neuromod Division to run some tests. There might be internal changes to accompany the presence of foreign genetic code…”  

Within two days they have absorbed it all: every ability, nuance, and unexplained happening that is the Typhon now accessible with just a thought.

“Hey,” Morgan adds into the transcribe, with a false air of bravado for show, “I told you so.” 

Alex isn’t here. 

The transcribe is pocketed and Morgan is striding over in the direction of Psychotronics. The Coral is heavier, now, than they remembered. The stairwell down is clogged with the yellowing tendrils, but Morgan’s world is casted into tempered shades of blue when they move through it. Morgan can hear faint chatter within it _—_

_Left the elevator.̤.̯̞̗͓?_  
_Why? Unsure. Unsure. Unsure._  
_Failed trial?_  
_No…w̰̕ait…_

_—_ words faded and elsewhere through the Coral. The researcher pushes a gloved finger into their ear, wiggling it as they pick up the pace, the chatter shifting into a muted whine. 

The nesting cystoids hardly acknowledge Morgan’s presence as they stomp their way through, mentally logging the observation. It may be too soon to break out the champagne, but this may have turned out to be an overwhelming success. The Typhon see them no longer as a threat. There is only one other person he could imagine sharing his success with, besides Alex, and he’s busy rotting in Psychotronic’s morgue: Dr. Sylvian Bellamy.

Their work has kept them close, two bowed heads before an altar of DNA sequences, theories, and molecules. Morgan liked him the moment they pitched the idea of using neuromods to observe and provide something beyond skills. Can they instill certain qualities? Personality traits? Quirks? The other shareholders and top researchers on the team murmured interest and support around the table. Bellamy shot it down, meeting each proposal with an argument on its limitations. They sparred with theories and research until the entire table grew bored. 

Morgan enjoyed it, despite their irritation at the man. It’s been a while since someone forced them to crack open his own notebook for reference and scramble for a rebuttal. 

And, now, one of their greatest allies on Talos I is a calcified and grotesque corpse on the morgue's floor. 

His lab coat and the familiar mole on the top of the man’s forehead is the only identifying marker of the Director of the Neurmod Division. Morgan doesn’t hesitate to lay their hand on the doctor and will resurrection.  

Morgan’s gloved hand splits in segments, spilled blood quickly oxidizing before them and forming the coiled tendrils and matter that makes up the limbs of Phantoms and Nightmares. The facade of humanity is briefly gone, but Morgan has long ago become used to the strange process. A temporary price for a taste of the beyond. This is Mary Shelley’s electrical shock that creates life and there is more pride than disgust when viewing this process. Morgan watches whatever physical leftovers of Bellamy deteriorate as the Typhon material spreads, leaving behind lanky limbs of energy and dark matter.  

Morgan stands back up, watching as Bellamy does the same. He’s far taller than his typical frame, towering over the shorter researcher. Morgan grins when they spy a static abnormality on its head — a speck of light sitting just so — that makes them think of the man’s mole.  

“Dr. Bellamy?” Morgan asks, searching for any signs of recognition. The Phantom of Dr. Bellamy only shifts its stance, peering down at Morgan. Nothing. No response.  
  
This is what Morgan was afraid of. The possible lack of cognizant self when changed via Typhon material after death. Morgan has listened to other Phantoms of his coworkers talking to themselves, words a mixture of English and something else. Was it a lingering effect? Last words and thoughts recycled by the Typhon? 

Morgan’s tongue clicks, feeling skepticism sink in. “Sylv?” they inquire, hopeful. 

The Phantom tilts its head and emits a low sound, sounding more like an attempted sigh, “Morgan…” 

Morgan perks at the response, lips pulling into a relieved smile, “Long time no see.” Bellamy raises its hands, a disgruntled sound leaving the Phantom’s chest, as it appears to be examining itself. “You’re okay. I did that,” Morgan cuts in, wincing at their own delivery. “The testing at the Sim Lab went south and you didn’t make it. I may have pulled a few strings or two for you to be here,” they continue, Bellamy’s features unreadable.  

“You know I wouldn’t have done this if we didn’t reach our mark,” Morgan, quickly, includes, “Did I not say that I would help you move back to the office upstairs after we celebrate?”

A garbled noise leaves the Phantom, eye sockets spilling with light coming to a close. Morgan pinches their brows in response. 

“You…” Bellamy begins, taking care to enunciate its words through the background of white noise leaving its mouth, “injected…alien matter into me…to drink champagne together?” 

Morgan’s smile returns, giving a short bark of laughter, reaching out to squeeze a long arm, “A promise is a promise. Come on, I’ve been keeping one in my desk for this moment.”

Bellamy makes that same garbled noise, Morgan beginning to interpret it as laughter or that unamused snort of Bellamy’s whenever he’s reading the quarterly reports. Morgan answers it with a wave for the Phantom to follow them, the two leaving the morgue, returning to the swell of Coral — 

_Should we terminate?_  
_No… This is a good sign._  
_It reached out to a friend._

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
